The Sea Air

By Suzi Smith

Epicurus looked out over the white sand into the green sea and smiled his morning smile, which was the same as his late night smile after a third glass of wine – slow, small, sleepy, a little sad, but honest. He thought he might count how many mornings he’d risen to this view, considered the number of birds he’d watched soaring over the water seeking an easy catch. But his thoughts kept leaning forward, to how many mornings he had left.

The sun was high and hot. The sky was a perfectly clear robin’s egg blue, unusual for this late into the season. He hoped he’d live long enough for the rain to return, for the sky to darken and the land to grey. No one wants a summer funeral, he almost said aloud, shaking his head at his imagination or maybe a memory, a rich bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck.

A fat fly landed on his left forearm. Its legs seemed to float on the thick, heavy hair there. Not yet, Epicurus shook the fly away. I’m not yours yet.

He smiled his smile again, closing his eyes, the sea lulling, rolling, crashing, as he sang quietly to the air – soon.

Soon.

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Suzi Q. Smith is an award-winning poet and author who lives in Denver, Colorado. While primarily known for her poetry, Suzi is also an organizer, an educator, a singer-songwriter, playwright, and interdisciplinary creative. She has created, curated, coached, organized, and taught for over 25 years, touring throughout the United States.